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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23663842">Institute</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/meltsunriseoath/pseuds/meltsunriseoath'>meltsunriseoath</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drama, Gen, Mad Science, Science Fiction, Some Humor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:01:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,323</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23663842</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/meltsunriseoath/pseuds/meltsunriseoath</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>At the Social Simulation Institute, the latest advances in science and technology are used to research the complexities of the human experience through a particularly novel method: creating entire virtual worlds that place curated human brains into various social contexts and scenarios. </p><p>Dr. Samantha Keller leads the talented staff of the Institute as their young director. Insisting on going by Sam or ma'am, she combines her brilliant vision and obsessive attention to detail with an aloof and blunt attitude toward personal relationships and workplace protocol. With Sam at the very top and her friend Yolanda supporting her from behind with her prodigious abilities in data science, operations at the Institute have been running smoother than ever.</p><p>However, Simulation 137 threatens to upend the entire status quo. Abnormal changes in activity worry Sam despite Yolanda's initial assurances, and her usual flow is disrupted by the entrance of the affluent and pompous Renaissance man Spencer Forsyth. With loyal allies by her side and treacherous enemies lurking in the shadows, will Sam confront the dark secrets waiting to be discovered at the Institute?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Log # 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Though I had not eaten for two days, I could not take more than two bites of my chicken salad sandwich. The feeling of the pale mixture in my mouth reminded me of lumpy brains. There was a time before I started working where I found brains merely fascinating and mysterious, but four years at the Social Simulation Institute had made the mere thought of grey matter and brain stems kill my appetite. And it was hard to not think of them, having to manage a tank of twenty-four of them for eight hours a day. Gingerly, I put down the sandwich.</p><p>"At least I have a flat tummy now," I quipped while chugging coffee to fill the void in my stomach. "Not that it really does anything for my life."</p><p>"Ugh, shut up." Yolanda rolled her eyes and reached for the sandwich on my plate. "I would <em>die</em> to have my body from college. Back then, Josh couldn't get enough of me."</p><p>"Meh. Not like men really care about that stuff, anyway."</p><p>"I don't want to hear that from a girl who's never even kissed a guy." Yolanda dug into my sandwich and kept talking as she chewed noisily. "Though I admit you're right. You know what they say: for every hot girl, there's a guy tired of screwing her."</p><p>I stood up and stretched, then walked around the table to take a seat next to my best (and only) work friend. I leaned against her shoulder and looked down her impressive cleavage. "Have your boobs gotten bigger? My back hurts just from looking."</p><p>"I think the last time Josh looked at my tits was last week, when I was shitting naked on the toilet after Mexican night." Yolanda sighed deeply. "Imagine a woman needing to initiate sex. But I've put my foot down. We're not fucking until he comes begging for it."</p><p>I clapped my hands. "You go, girl. How long's it been?"</p><p>"A day past two weeks."</p><p>"My deepest condolences."</p><p>I wrapped an arm around Yolanda's soft waist while reaching for the thick binder on the table. I scanned through pages and pages of diagrams and tables, flipping through quickly as my eyes skimmed through lines and labels. After a while, when Yolanda had finished the chicken sandwich and was taking a swig of her Coke Zero, I pointed to a bar graph.</p><p>"I was meaning to ask. Is it normal for brain activity to surge this early in a new simulation?"</p><p>        </p><p>Yolanda shrugged. "Ran a few statistical tests, and the change is within one standard deviation of the average early phase activity spike. Should be page two of Appendix C."</p><p>"Reading your methodology," I pressed on, "Your analysis was of the first twelve weeks?"</p><p>"Correct."</p><p>"And you would agree with my observation that all surges larger than ten percent have appeared in weeks eleven and twelve?"</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>"Well then, shouldn't we be worried that this is the first time that activity has jumped by twenty-five thousand pulses per second by week nine? That's over ten thousand pulses per subject, an average increase of twenty percent." I sat up straight and tapped on the open page with an insistent finger. "Specimen 13 is known to be on the volatile side. Don't you think that its inclusion in this iteration has something to do with all this?"</p><p>Yolanda clicked her tongue. "You bureaucrat types really love fretting over numbers." She shut the binder with a thud and picked it off the table. "The figures don't tell the whole story. They never have. That has always been especially true for this project."</p><p>I sniffed and reached for the coffee mug on the other side of the table. "Is that really something a data scientist should be saying? It was thanks to you that we could make so many optimizations to the parameters of the simulation. And yet, you're here telling me that the figures don't tell the whole story? Haven't you been the storyteller this entire time, with us as your captive audience?"</p><p>"The fact that the numbers can model some things doesn't mean that they can describe everything. There is an entire universe in that simulation, Sam. Do you really think that numbers can capture all the complexities of even our own Earth? Of course not. If I had to guess, the most plausible reason why activity has increased so much so early in this iteration is because it was an adjustment to something going on there that we can't quantify. Keep in mind, right now the activity level isn't even close to the highest it's ever been by week nine, and it looks like everything else has been completely normal, otherwise." Yolanda stood up with the binder and her Coke. She clapped her hand on my shoulder a bit too hard, causing me to wince. "I guess you are being paid to worry, so you do you. But my two cents, boss. The others might talk less about you behind your back if you just smiled and took it easy from time to time."</p><p>And with that, Yolanda expertly strutted away on her stiletto heels and left the lunchroom. I raised my mug to my mouth while grumbling. "Without me getting paid to worry, no one here would worry about anything." When only a few bitter drops of coffee touched my lips, I stared into my empty cup until a few minutes before the end of lunch break.</p><p>— <b><em>Pilot</em></b></p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Log # 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After being reprimanded by her friend and colleague Yolanda for worrying too much, Sam decides to do her best to not give a care in the world for one week.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Swish. </em>Another perfect throw. I was crumpling yet another newsletter when Yolanda came into my office with a black folder in her hand and a hop in her step.</p><p>"Here's the activity summary for the past twenty-four hours," she announced while placing the folder beside my feet on the desk. "Another small activity surge last night, but everything else is normal as always. See what I mean? Always worrying over nothing."</p><p>"Yeah, yeah." I took aim and made another throw. <em>Whoosh</em>. Right into the wastepaper basket. If past lives and all the other stuff in those occult magazines really did exist, maybe I was an NBA player in another age.</p><p>"Working hard or hardly working?" Yolanda smirked and leaned against the wall behind my chair. "It's already Friday and you still haven't sent me a project update memo."</p><p>        </p><p>"So that's why you made the trek yourself this time." I swiveled my office chair around and reached out to Yolanda with my outstretched legs. "You've been sending down your little minions ever since lunchtime on Monday."</p><p>She rolled her eyes, then stepped closer and let me pull her in with my legs. "I wasn't avoiding you, if that's what you're thinking."</p><p>"Sure you weren't, girl." I squeezed my knees inward just a bit tighter, inducing a small yelp from the damsel in distress. "Anyway, I took your advice this week. Smiled at everyone in the halls and eased up my workload."</p><p>Yolanda chuckled and, much to my pleasant surprise, ruffled my unkempt hair. "You mean making scary faces at the interns and abandoning all your duties? But this is a nice change of pace, I guess. It's good for morale to have a slow week from time to time."</p><p>"Someone's in a cheery mood." I reached up and put my hand over Yolanda's. "Has Josh been paying attention to you?" In reply, Yolanda winked at me with a slight blush on her cheek.</p><p>Just then, a knock came from the entrance to my office. "Excuse me, Dr. Samantha Keller?"</p><p>The woman between my legs struggled to break free, but I kept my hold on her as I addressed the young man standing at the door. "Never call me Dr., Samantha, or Keller ever again. It's either Sam or ma'am."</p><p>"Ah, so the water cooler gossip about the director was all true." The man chuckled. "Am I interrupting something important?"</p><p>"Just a classic case of workplace harassment. Nothing to see." I let my prisoner free and swiveled to put my legs back on my desk. "What do you want? If it's more budget for your department or a promotion for yourself, I'll be sending you on your way."</p><p>"Worry not. I come not to beg or grovel like an insect." The man stepped into the office and walked toward the window overlooking the vat of twenty-four brains in the laboratory below. "Please call me Spencer."</p><p>Yolanda gawked. "<em>Spencer Forsyth?</em> Oh my God, the son of our biggest donor and the head supervisor of Lab 3!" Futilely, she tried to make me sit more presentably. "Show some manners, Sam! Mr. Forsyth, please take a seat. Do you prefer coffee or—"</p><p>"Oh no, Dr. Clement. Please do not trouble yourself. I am quite a fan of your graduate thesis." The man turned around and smiled with a pound of faux magnanimity smeared on his face. "Mr. Forsyth is my uncle. No need for the formalities."</p><p>"Wait, <em>uncle</em>?" Yolanda tilted her head, confused. "I thought you were—"</p><p>"Funny, I just fired the Forsyth son last week." I strained to reach for the coffee mug on my desk. "Guy just couldn't stop fudging data. Typical rich keener, thinking science is about grinding right answers."</p><p>While Yolanda struggled to sputter out a coherent sentence in condemnation of my actions, the Forsyth nephew stepped toward my desk and picked up my coffee mug. Just as I was about to thank him for the help, he downed the entire cup in one gulp. Before I could protest, he began speaking:</p><p>"I apologize for my cousin Spencer. A true disgrace to the world of research. He should have just studied medicine at Harvard or something. Became a <em>doctor</em>." Dramatically, he put his hand across his heart. "But I, Spencer Forsyth, am a true student of human knowledge! Though I was born among degenerate rubes who know only of worldly pleasures and shameful decadence, I have used my status and connections to learn all that I can about mathematics and the physical sciences. Thermodynamics, quantum computing, string theory — it's all out there, for me to conquer and explore—"</p><p>"Hey, dude. Pour me another coffee before you finish your little speech." I leaned even farther back in my chair. "And consider giving me the TL;DR version. I still have work to do before I'm done for the week."</p><p>"Most certainly, Dr.— I mean, <em>ma'am</em>."</p><p>While Spencer sauntered over to the coffee pot on the far side of the room, I looked up at Yolanda and mouthed:</p><p>
  <em>I think I'll fire this one, too.</em>
</p><p><em>I'll literally strangle you</em>, she half-mouthed, half-whispered her credible threat as Spencer came back with a steaming cup of hot coffee. I took a whiff and nodded, content that it was served black and was perfectly brewed without any hint of burning. Were rich kids always this good at preparing coffee?!</p><p>Oh, wait. I made this beautiful pot of coffee myself thirty minutes ago. Haha. Go me. I took a quick sip, then passed my cup over to Yolanda, who drank the coffee aggressively as Spencer cleared his throat before speaking.</p><p>"I have only one simple request." Spencer's eyes burned with the fire of a thousand red giants. "Please become my master."</p><p>Yolanda choked and spat out a mouthful of coffee right on the pristine floor of my office. "You want Sam to be your <em>master</em>?!"</p><p>I hemmed and hawed. "Would it mean having you as my disciple?"</p><p>"Yes, of course!"</p><p>"Then fuck no. Get the hell out."</p><p>— <b><em>Proposal</em></b></p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Log # 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>With the affluent and shameless Spencer Forsyth in her office begging for her tutelage, Sam tries her best to get him out.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I could not figure out which combination of phonemes would do the trick. I thought I had started off pretty strong with "It's not me, it's you" and other thinly veiled insults, but when those failed to make Spencer disappear I tried the usual "It's not you, it's me". Soon, I was reduced to offering forced compliments.</p><p>"A master's degree in engineering from MIT! I'm sure people are lining up to hire you."</p><p>"But money is nothing to me! I'm <em>made</em> of money!" Spencer pointed to his expensive pressed shirt and his luxury wristwatch.</p><p>"What dashing looks! Any woman would want you. Yolanda, sic 'em."</p><p>Yolanda whacked me upside the head. "I'm in a loving, committed relationship."</p><p>"How about vacation days? You'll do it if I give you vacation days, yeah?"</p><p>"Wait, how many are you—no, I mean—"</p><p>"Dr. Keller." Spencer stepped closer and dropped down on one knee. "I would forsake the entire fairer sex for your tutelage."</p><p>"Hey, that's actually kinda mean. I'm still a girl, you know. Also, it's not Dr. or Keller—"</p><p>"Sam! That's enough." Yolanda bowed her head apologetically. "Mr. Forsyth, please understand the director's position. It is unlikely that she will change her mind."</p><p>"Dr. Clement. Surely you, an esteemed data scientist, can understand that the expected value of my persistence is too great! There is nothing I want more than to be her disciple! If there is any chance at all, I shall press on!"</p><p>I kicked my legs off my desk and rolled back in my office chair. "There isn't. Now get lost. Yolanda, show him out."</p><p>"Please, Master! Accept me! I will never—"</p><p>"Shh. Do you guys hear that?"</p><p>The three of us fell silent. I strained my ear to hear what Yolanda was referring to. "The sweet sound of silence?"</p><p>"Christ, are you deaf?" Yolanda pointed to a monitor by the window in the office. "Something's coming from there."</p><p>We gathered around the monitor. Up close, I could make out a faint beeping in sync with the warning flashing on the screen:</p><p>TANK OXYGEN LEVELS DROPPING.</p><p>"I guess I'll try leaving it to the techs." I turned around and headed back to my chair. "I'm sure they're good for something."</p><p>"No, Sam! Look at the time. Everyone in the Doom Room already went to lunch. We might be the only ones seeing this alert."</p><p>"Shouldn't they all receive it no matter where they are? I thought all our employees got push notifications on their phones."</p><p>"And what do people do with notifications?"</p><p>"Well, of <em>course</em> this week I have them turned—oh, I remember now. Not giving a shit is <em>normal</em> for all y'all." I jutted my chin at Spencer. "Scram. I'm locking up."</p><p>— <b><em>Errand</em></b></p><p> </p><p>"So, should I be worried that you feel the need to tag along instead of having lunch?"</p><p>Yolanda shrugged. "I just wanted to ride your private elevator." When the doors opened, we stepped out together, our synchronized footsteps echoing out through the empty hallway. Soon, she spoke again:</p><p>"If the rising oxygen levels are directly being <em>caused</em> by the increased activity, then we might have a problem on our hands. It's probably nothing, but if it <em>is</em> something—"</p><p>I groaned. "Didn't you say we didn't have to worry about the surges?"</p><p>"They're almost surely unrelated! Almost."</p><p>At the end of the hallway, Yolanda stepped aside as I approached the authenticator. After tapping my ID and scanning my eyes, the door slid open. As if doing something wrong, Yolanda tiptoed into the so-called Doom Room as I followed closely behind. A large circular platform surrounded a huge tank of clear liquid holding an isolated container with twenty-four brains in a red fluid. A mess of tubes and wires connected each brain to the life support system and the supercomputer housed the floor above. Trying not to look at the grotesque display, I marched up to the central console and inputted an override command. I clicked my tongue. "Does <em>that</em> look like low oxygen levels to you?"</p><p>"Not at all." Yolanda pointed to a line. "Oxygen flow is normal, too. False alarm?"</p><p>"Guess so. I'll have it checked after lunch."</p><p>"I would not wait if I were you."</p><p>I whipped around at the sound of a familiar voice. "Spencer! How did you get in here?"</p><p>
  <em>Damn. I left the door open.</em>
</p><p>Spencer pointed to the brain tank. "While studying the blueprints, I found a design failure in the emergency life support. If the backup reader goes out of service, the reserve supply starts feeding into the tank. The O₂ concentration should start ticking up." He stepped forward. "By the end of lunch, the resulting hyperoxia might lead to seizures."</p><p>I planted myself between Spencer and the console with a scowl on my face. "The oxygen concentration is completely normal. Are you even an employee at the Institute? If not, please leave the building before I call security."</p><p>"Trust me, Master. I can help." </p><p>He took another step, and this time I fended against him with all my might. Soon, I had my arm around his neck. "Don't let him touch anything!" I yelled.</p><p>        </p><p>"Got it!" Yolanda stood in front of the console with arms outstretched. Fighting for air, Spencer pried at my arms. Breaking out of my chokehold for a second, he exclaimed:</p><p>"Dr. Clement! The oxygen concentration!"</p><p>Yolanda turned her head to look at the display. "Sam! He's right! It's going up!" As she pointed to the screen, Spencer lurched forward, knocking her off balance. Stumbling backward, she caught herself with her right hand, which landed right on a large button. A loud <em>boom</em> rang out as a large tube labelled MAIN OXYGEN SUPPLY detached from the tank. The three of us all stared.</p><p>"Fuck," we said in unison.</p><p>— <b><em>Misstep</em></b></p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Log # 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Disaster strikes when Spencer accidentally bumps into Yolanda, causing her to hit a button that disconnected the oxygen supply from the brain tank. Can they save the day?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam stepped up to the console, pushing past me and Spencer. She hit another button, then spoke into a microphone: "Urgently require assistance. Technicians with clearance level three and above, report to the Doom Room immediately. I repeat—"</p><p>"What a development," Spencer muttered. "This just <em>has</em> to happen while the backup oxygen sensor is malfunctioning."</p><p>"What will we do?" I whispered. "By the time the technicians get here, the entire simulation will..." I slumped to my knees. "It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my—"</p><p>"Dr. Clement!." Spencer turned to me with fiery eyes. "The fault lies with me. But right now, that is of no import. I have a plan."</p><p>Sam slammed the console, sending a shiver down my spine. "Fuck!" After a tense moment, she turned around. "Okay, Spencer. Have it your way. I just hope you know that if you mess this up, no money in the world can ever replace the damage to humanity."</p><p>Spencer smiled wide. "On the contrary: no money in the world will ever suffice in return for my heroic service to humanity." He grabbed my wrist, causing me to yelp. "Time is of the essence. We must make haste!"</p><p>— <b><em>Onward</em></b><br/><b><em><br/></em></b></p><p>Having Spencer pulling me along made it somewhat easier to forget we were four stories up from the main platform. <em>Don't look down. Don't look down.</em> Though we only had to walk twenty meters or so, I clung to the railing for dear life. Even with my high heels off, every step felt like it could be my last. But we safely reached the large box holding the backup life support. From inside came a quiet whirring.</p><p>"Dr. Clement. Do you know the code?"</p><p>"—Ah, yes." I stepped in front of the keypad and clumsily tapped on the buttons. Twenty digits later, the lock clicked and Spencer swung the door open. He whistled.</p><p>"Have you ever tried memorizing pi?"</p><p>"Just the first five thousand digits or so. More than I'll ever need." I peeked inside the life support system. "You're on your own for this part. Are you <em>absolutely</em> <em>sure</em> about this?"</p><p>"It is quite a simple problem, Dr. Clement. If the oxygen sensor for the backup system is broken, then removing it would have it up and running." He pointed to two wires deep inside the box. "This one runs from here to the control unit, and <em>this</em> one runs from there and back. Right now, the sensor system is no better than a broken switch. Our solution? Splice these wires directly and have the current always turned on. Lucky for us, the backup oxygen's maximum flow matches the normal flow from the main supply, so the brains will be safe and sound."</p><p>I put my hands in the air. "I haven't done circuits since high school. I'll trust your word on all this hands-on gadget stuff."</p><p>With a Swiss Army knife, Spencer cut and stripped the wires. When he touched the exposed ends together, the oxygen supply kicked to life and pumped at full capacity. He grinned. "Looks like I saved the day."</p><p>Just then, an alarm blared through the Doom Room. Sam's voice barked orders: "Specimen 24's brain activity is off the charts! Get the neuroscience team in here!" Then, in the next breath: "Yolanda!"</p><p>Timidly, I peeked over the railing. Sam was looking up at me with a pleading expression. While techs ran back and forth on the main platform, she was standing still, utterly helpless. For the first time in a while, the director of the Social Simulation Institute looked just like the lost child she was.</p><p>"Don't worry!" We've got it under control!" I turned back to Spencer. <em>Please</em>, my teary eyes begged. He grimaced and looked away.</p><p>"Specimen 24 is likely having a seizure due to hyperoxia. The oxygen concentration is still too high. All we can do for now is let it fall back to normal." He pulled apart the spliced wires, and the backup life support whirred to a halt. "The only problem is knowing when to turn it back on. As we saw before, the main oxygen sensor has sensitivity issues. When it shows the correct concentration, we might already be way under the right value."</p><p>Just then, something hit me. "We can approximate it ourselves! We have the information we need to bash it."</p><p>Spencer raised his eyebrows. "By 'we', do you mean <em>you</em> are able to pull off that sort of computational feat?"</p><p>I smiled. "If you help with all the biology and chemistry. Let's hope you've studied up."</p><p>The next five minutes were spent listing off the data we had on hand: the time of the false alarm and of the main oxygen supply ejection, the rate of change in the oxygen concentration according to the console, the rate of O₂ consumption for twenty-four brains, and the stable target concentration we need. With this, Spencer guided me through the process of crunching all the numbers to estimate the time we needed to wait. Finally, after another ten minutes, I exclaimed:</p><p>"A bit under twenty-three minutes after the main oxygen got cut off!"</p><p>"And right now it's been a bit over twenty minutes since then," said Spencer while checking his wristwatch. "When the time comes, you do the honors." He offered me the two stripped wires. Proudly, I took them.</p><p>About two minutes later, we saved the day.</p><p>— <b><em>Mission Accomplished</em></b><br/><br/></p><p>"With all due respect, what the <em>fuck</em>, Director! Why would you even use the override code just to check data? That damned button wouldn't have even done anything if it weren't for you! What were you thinking?!"</p><p>"The regular code's too hard to remember—"</p><p>"How the fuck is that even an excuse? Oh, and mind you explaining how <em>they</em> got in? You give us shit for keying in <em>authorized</em> personnel and meanwhile <em>you're</em> allowed to bring in your little friends?"</p><p>The head technician went on and on as Sam shifted her eyes uncomfortably and Spencer wore a sheepish grin. I, on the other hand, was too dazed to care anymore.</p><p>That was enough heroism for one lifetime, I decided. Sadly, it was over too soon.</p><p>—<b><em> Hero's Welcome</em></b><br/><br/></p><p>On Monday morning, I received an email that made my blood run cold. I ran through the halls as fast as my high heels would allow me. When I burst through the door of Sam's office, I was gasping for air in between my words: "Update . . . memo . . . urgent . . . matter?"</p><p>The director of the Social Simulation Institute looked up from her computer and pointed at a coffee stain on the ground. As I recalled its cause (<em>see Log # 2</em>), Sam produced a sponge and bucket from under her desk.</p><p>"Looks like both I and the custodial staff forgot all about this. Get cleaning."</p><p>— <b><em>Return to Normalcy</em></b></p><p> </p><p>        </p><p>
  <em>"You wanted a full illustration? No can do, broski. <br/>No budget, no space. Go ahead, report me."</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Log # 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A few weeks after the near-disaster at the Institute, Yolanda drags along her favorite nephew (well, first cousin once removed) and his own cousin for Bring Your Kids to Work Day. But she soon realizes that Sam has different plans for her...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Before we even reached the underground garage at the Institute, I already knew that there was a long day ahead of me. After thirty minutes of two fourth-graders arguing in the backseat about which dinosaur was the coolest, a vein bulged on my temple. <em>Wow, do I ever feel old.</em> Already, I regretted bothering with Bring Your Kids to Work Day. Despite my wavering patience, I held my tongue as I drove down three floors to my parking spot. To J (<em>yes, the letter</em>), Aunt Yolanda was the young and hip aunt, and the young and hip aunt I intended to stay. So, when J and his cousin Alacrity asked me who would win in a brawl between a Triceratops or a Stegosaurus, I simply said that a Tyrannosaurus rex would eat them both when they were tired from fighting. The rest of the trip to my office was thereafter quite serene, as they considered my wisdom on this oh-so-important issue.</p><p>
  <em>Ah, now nice it is to be taken seriously once in a while. Even if it's just by two wide-eyed kids.</em>
</p><p>"Yo, yo, Yolanda. You're later than usual."</p><p><em>Well, it was nice while it lasted.</em> Seeing Sam leaning against the door to my office, I rolled my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose.</p><p>"It's still barely half past eight, Sam. I hope you know I'm supposed to start at nine."</p><p>"Come on, girl. Totally not cool to lead me on like that." Sam looked over my shoulder. "<em>Two </em>little monsters? But you don't look a day over thirty."</p><p>"I'm twenty-seven, dick." I scoffed. "So, what does our <em>esteemed</em> director want at this <em>auspicious </em>hour?"</p><p>"You, of course." Sam stepped forward and put her arm around my shoulders.. "Let's get frisky in my office. Bring the two brats, too."</p><p>— <b><em>Hump Day</em></b><b><em><br/></em></b></p><p> </p><p>"Sam, you're so unreasonable! I'm going to the damned conference for you and you can't help me with such a small thing? Ugh!" Yolanda loudly slammed on my desk, making the three bystanders on the other side of the room flinch. Though I did not visibly react, I was ready to shit my pants. With her eyes narrowed, the usually pretty data scientist looked like the type of person who would kill in cold blood. <em>Yuck, my feet are sweating. My poor Chelsea boots.</em> However, I replied in an even tone.</p><p>"I'm the <em>epitome</em> of reason. Your office is a perfect playground for adorable goblins. Just let 'em climb the bookshelves or use your computer to hack the Pentagon. Some easy, harmless fun."</p><p>"You expect my family members to stay in an office all day? After they came all this way?"</p><p>"They're <em>extended</em> family, and <em>you're</em> the one who decided to pull them along. Anyway, they'll be sitting in an office in the <em>greatest </em>research center in America. Doesn't that sound swell, children?"</p><p>"I'm bored," said the girl flatly. The boy gently nudged her, and she said no more.</p><p>Yolanda grinned dangerously. "How's this, <em>Director</em>? If you don't show them around the Institute, I'll quit first thing tomorrow." She turned and victoriously headed to the door.</p><p>"And what if I have a long list of potential replacements for one Head of Data Science?"</p><p>"Gotta run~~! Or I'll be late." Yolanda stepped out of the office. "You'll definitely do the right thing, Samantha. I just <em>know</em> you will. Toodles~~!"</p><p>The door slammed shut. I considered my work schedule for a moment, then addressed a certain man standing with the two children.</p><p>"So, Spencer. For how long have you been showing up in my office every day to change my mind on becoming your sensei or whatever?"</p><p>Spencer cleared his throat. "Three weeks, Master."</p><p>I smirked. "Well, today's your lucky day. Do me a favor and I'll let you be my slave."</p><p>Spencer blinked. "Master, what do you—"</p><p>"Hey, you two." I glanced at the children in my office. "You guys in the mood for ice cream?"</p><p>— <b><em>Exchange</em></b></p><p> </p><p>"Hey Nemo. Lemme try some of yours."</p><p>"Sure." The girl named both Alacrity and Nemo offered her ice cream cone to the boy named J, who took a large bite. After he swallowed, he sighed.</p><p>"You were right after all. Salty caramel is <em>way</em> better than caramel fudge."</p><p>"That's why we should have had him buy us two each! He would've done it, you know."</p><p>"That's not very nice, Nemo."</p><p>While the two children spoke as if I were invisible, I was elated. To be useful to Master and also gain a place by her side? It was a dream come true. With a jovial lilt, I entered the conversation.</p><p>"May I ask about your family tree?"</p><p>"Aunt Yolanda's a cousin of my mom. So my first cousin once removed. And Nemo is the daughter of my mom's sister. So my first cousin."</p><p>Mysteriously, Alacrity pouted. Sensing some deeper family history, I pivoted. "Are you two Canadian? Dr. Clement once mentioned in a talk that her family had lived in Ontario for generations."</p><p>"We're from Waterloo," J replied proudly.</p><p>J widened his eyes. "<em>Anne of Green Gables </em>is my favorite book! That was amazing, mister."</p><p>Alacrity agreed. "Rich people must read a lot."</p><p>I chuckled politely. "I cannot say that literature is my forte. The only highlight of my liberal arts education were my Latin lessons."</p><p>"Wow! Latin!" J and Alacrity marveled.</p><p>"Speaking of Latin," I continued while turning to Alacrity, "does your middle name come from thecyclops episode in the <em>Odyssey</em>?"</p><p>She beamed. "That's the first time someone outside my family got it! People usually guess <em>Finding Nemo</em>." She pointed at J. "His real name is Jason, from the <em>Argonautica</em>."</p><p>I nodded. "What wonderful names."</p><p>"And since both our names came from explorers," declared Alacrity passionately, "we're gonna build a vacuum airship and fly around on adventures!"</p><p>I nodded without a word. So wonderful it was, to see children dream so bravely. Even though vacuum airships were an obvious absurdity.</p><p>"After you two are finished with your ice cream," I said while holding up Master's ID card and a high-resolution image of her retina, "how about we go see some real human brains?"</p><p>— <b><em>Apocrypha</em></b><b><em><br/></em></b></p><p> </p><p>"Do I need to repeat myself, Keller?"</p><p>"No, sir. I understand. I will have the first complete data release for Simulation 137 delivered by Friday."</p><p>"I hope you remember your position," the bass voice snarled. "Do <em>not</em> test me. Goodbye."</p><p>I waited for the man to hang up, then slowly lowered my cell phone from my ear. I checked the time: <em>8:41pm</em>. I leaned back in my chair in silence until I heard the door open. I sat up and forced as natural an expression as I could muster.</p><p>"Did Yolanda pick up the two troglodytes already?"</p><p>"I took them to a wonderful restaurant for dinner," Spencer said as he entered. He placed my ID card and retina image on my desk. "I am pleased to report that everything went well. So, Master—"</p><p>"You'll be an employee at the Institute starting tomorrow. Report here at nine o'clock sharp."</p><p>Spencer objected: "But I have no need for—"</p><p>"A slave should just do as their lord commands, no? I had to put you on the payroll to get HR to issue you <em>this</em>." I produced a new ID card from my lab coat pocket. On it was Spencer's name and a headshot I found on Google. "Also, I'm adding one more condition. Cut it out with the 'Master' shit or I'll die of cringe. It's either Sam or ma'am."</p><p>Spencer took his new ID card. To my surprise, a soft but unmistakably heartfelt smile came across his face. "Understood, ma'am." With that, he left the room, gently shutting the door behind him.</p><p>". . . Well, that was a first."</p><p>— <b><em>All's Well</em></b><b> (?)</b></p><p> </p><p>        </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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